A Twisted Fate
by Otp4ever
Summary: Lord Baelish always imagined what it would be like to be the father of Catelyn Tully's children. But whenever he looked into Sansa's eyes, his mind went blank. He could never imagine a world where she was his daughter. Maybe there was a reason behind that all along. Maybe, she was beginning to feel the same way about him as he did about her. . .
1. Chapter 1

Sansa studied his face as they rode in the wagon house. It seemed like so long ago that he had pulled her from that ladder and onto the safety of the ship leaving King's Landing. But it was only three nights ago. She found herself thinking about that night often. Though, if she were being completely honest with herself, she found herself thinking of his expression when he removed the hood of her cloak. It was an expression she could not fully decipher - with hints of joy, relief, love? _Desire?_ She could not say for sure. Since then, she had made it her personal mission to learn to read Lord Baelish's face. _All the better to play the game_ , she thought.

And yet, it was not the game she was considered with as she studied his face this evening. It was curiosity, maybe even longing though she'd never admit it. The salt and pepper of his hair gave him a distinguished attribute, but the lack of wrinkles on his forehead and around his mouth indicated he was not as old as she originally thought when she first met him. _I was a girl then. A woman now._ After the torment she had gone through, she was definitely a woman now. And as a woman, she found herself attracted to his mischievous smirk, the touch of Braavosi accent, the gravel in his voice. It all effected her in a way it should not. But she wasn't going to deny it anymore. Not to herself, anyway.

She was jolted from her thoughts as the wagon house hit a severe pothole, the whole carriage tipped over. Petyr immediately opened his eyes and grabbed her shoulders, looking into her eyes. As the carriage settled to a stop, albeit tilted severely, he asked, "are you okay?" She swallowed and nodded. Relief flooded his eyes. "Wait here," he told her sternly. He exited the carriage to have a very, _very_ stern talking to with the driver. After all, it was not just him in that carriage.

While she half-expected him to yell, she knew better. He was much more terrifying with his quiet anger. She guessed the driver was pissing himself at this very moment. All of a sudden, the carriage door opened once more.

"Come. There's an inn less than a mile away. It's still bright enough we should be safe walking." She took his outstretched hand as he helped her out of the carriage. She turned to find one of the wheels had completely detached from the wagon house. She let her hand linger on his longer than appropriate. But then propriety finally bested her and she let her hand drop.

"We'll stay here for the night. We should be safe now that you're hair isn't a dead give away." He said lightly, a twitch of his mouth. "I'm sure you've missed sleeping in a bed."

"Yes, my lord. But I'd sleep in a wagon house until the end of days if it meant I was free of King's Landing." She replied dryly.

"I'd agree with you there m'lady. But for tonight at least, we won't have to. And you are free from that hell forever."

Their eyes met, and she allowed herself to give him the softest of smiles before looking back down at her feet.

Soon enough, they arrived at the Hair of the Dog inn. After entering, Sansa realized she might have spoken too soon earlier. This was positively the most repulsive, filthy establishment she had ever had the displeasure to lay eyes on. As Peter spoke to the man at the front desk, Sansa stayed at the entrance, watching the men and women drink old ale and eat stale bread at dirty tables on grimy, sticky floors.

"Come, I've had supper sent to our rooms." Petyr told her, seemingly reading her mind. _Like always_. He handed her the key to her room as they reached the third floor landing. "We'll dine in my room, but yours is just across the hall if you need me." Sansa nodded. They entered his room to find a table with cheese, bread, meats and some fruit that was probably days away from fermentation. They both nibbled here and there, neither talking. After all the edible food was gone, Sansa excused herself, "I think I will retire for the evening Lord Baelish."

"Petyr."

"Goodnight, Lor- Petyr. Sleep well."

"You as well, Sansa." He said before she turned and headed for her room across the hall. She dressed in her night shift, but it was not nearly warm enough under the parchment thin sheets and moth-eaten blanket. Worse yet, she could here the rats scampering across her floors, the beetles scurrying around under her bed. She had no idea if she would ever get to sleep. Rats were always her biggest sense of discomfort. Lady was always around to scare them away - or kill them. But she lost Lady long ago. And now she was alone in this rat-infested room. _But you're not alone._ A voice inside reminded her. She thought about how inappropriate it would be to go to Lord Baelish in her night clothes, let alone share a bed with him. But that was what the old Sansa would think. _The girl_. She wasn't a girl, she was a woman. And there was no Father, or Mother, or Robb, or Septa here to keep her from sharing a bed with Lord Baelish. _Petyr._ She reminded herself. While she couldn't trust him, he made her feel safe. She could trust him to make her feel safe at the very least. She would never be truly safe, but after not feeling anything for so long, it was nice to have kindness and security for a change.

Another icy shiver wracked her body as she tried to warm herself. When she heard two rats fighting one another, that settled it. She steeled herself and exited the room, crossed the hall, and stopped at his door. She thought about knocking, but she changed her mind. She opened the door to find it unlocked, and she slowly and quietly closed the door behind her. He had blown out the candle, and his steady breathing signaled he had just fallen asleep. She tiptoed her way to the bed and lifted the covers before settling in herself. Unfortunately or fortunately, she wasn't quite sure, Petyr awoke.

"Sansa? What's the matter?" He asked, sleep making his voice even more gravelly than usual.

"I-I couldn't sleep. The rats, the cold. I-" He smiled and hushed her. "It's alright." He cooed as he wrapped his arms around her, her back to his front. "I'll keep you warm," He promised. In minutes,the two were sound asleep.

When Sansa awoke just before dawn, she could feel something pressed against her bottom. Something hard. _Oh_! She thought, and smiled to herself. His arms tightened around her as he whispered her name and bucked his hips into her. She turned her head to look see his face, but his eyes were closed, his breathing still steady. _He was dreaming about me_ , she thought, triumphantly. She snuggled more deeply into him and closed her eyes for a few more moments of sleep. This time, when she awoke, he was gone. In his place, she found a note and a plate of lemon cakes. The note read, _Eat and dress, my sweet. We will be back on the rode shortly._ She dug into the lemon cakes with ferocity, finally having something to truly satisfy her appetite. They were fresh. He must have had the kitchen make them especially for her. Another smile teased her lips. When the plate was clear of any crumbs, she went back to her room and changed back into her travelling gown before heading downstairs.

There she saw Petyr. When he looked at her, he smiled. "Good morning, Father."

"Good morning, daughter. Did you sleep well?" He said dryly, though no one could have suspected a thing.

"Very well, thank you. And thank you for breakfast."

"Anything for my beautiful daughter," he mocked, kissing her cheek. "Come, we must ride on." His hand found the small of her back as he guided her from the filthy inn. The simple touch setting her whole body on fire. She didn't know how she was going to spend more time in such a small enclosure with him now that she knew just how badly he desired her. Or if she ever let herself acknowledge just how badly _she_ wanted _him._


	2. Chapter 2

After everything that happened in the Vale, it was strange how naturally being back in the wagon house with Lord Baelish was. It was as if she hadn't almost fallen through the moon door, hadn't watched Petyr kill her aunt, _hadn't heard the noises Aunt Lysa made when they consummated their marriage._ The last thought came unbidden, but it didn't surprise her anymore. She had finally accepted her desire for Lord Baelish. She was a woman. But at the end of the day, she was still naive and inexperienced.

As the carriage house hit a pothole again, Lord Baelish opened his eyes, a flicker of exasperation just visible in his grey eyes. He uncrossed his arms and tapped his knuckles twice on the walls of the wagon. Five minutes later, the wagon slowed to a stop. Looking out the window, Sansa realized they had parked in front of an inn. She released a silent sigh of relief. They had been riding for days, barely stopping long enough for Sansa to relieve herself in a proper chamber pot. Lord Baelish opened the door and exited the wagon, offering her his arm for her to follow.

Gracefully, she descended the stairs and her sturdy travelling shoes hit the mud, splattering her stockings. He escorted her inside to a dingy inn packed with men, stumbling and laughing from drink.

Lord Baelish weaved them through the crowd with skill before stopping before the young woman manning the front desk.

"Do you have any rooms available miss?"

"Aye, you're in luck, we got one bed left. Does it have your name on it?"

"It certainly does" he responded, sliding a pouch of silver across the wooden panels of the desk.

"Right this way Mr. and Mrs. . . ?"

"Baker." Sansa replied, she smiled with caring eyes just visible from below her cloak hood.

Petyr swelled with pride. She played her part so well. He was beginning to wonder when she would surpass him. With each passing day, she became more of her own person - the hardships she faced molding her. She was not a younger version of her mother any longer. She was not young Cat. She was her own woman. She was Sansa. _His_ Sansa.

Upon reaching the top floor, the young innkeeper's daughter opened the door to a tiny door almost slamming into the tub against the wall. Blessedly, the bed was just large enough for two people to sleep comfortably - but only just. Petyr inwardly rejoiced, while Sansa displayed no change in expression as she listened to the innkeeper's daughter telling her she'd bring up some warm water straight away.

"Oh that won't be necess - "

"Nonsense," the young girl replied. "I'm sure you've been travelling a long while. You'll be needin' a nice warm, relaxing bath. I won't be but a moment." And the girl was off before Petyr himself could further protest.

Although Sansa's face read emotionless, inside she was screaming. Sharing a bed with Lord Baelish is one thing. But stripping and bathing in front of him? Sansa could only imagine her septa's face if she ever found out. Her thoughts jumped from one to another until, before she realized, the innkeeper and a man had brought three heaping buckets of hot water.

"Can I get you anything else Mr. and Mrs. Baker?"

"That'll be all. Thank you for the trouble." Petyr responded, handing the girl and boy some silver each. Sansa remained statuesque, glued to the spot, contemplating her next move.

Sansa didn't know what to do. Her inner child wanted to run away, to hide from Petyr. But there was another part of her, some new part she didn't quite recognize, that appreciated the circumstance they found themselves in and recognized fully her desire for him. Petyr had been her only friend in King's Landing, but she would be a fool to think that those friendly feelings had not grown in their time together. He was manipulative, and would do anything to get what he wanted, sure. But then again, who had she met in her lifetime that wasn't? Petyr was just better at it than all the rest of them. And that awakened something in her. The power he wielded, secretly that only she could catch glimpses of here and there. But it wasn't just the power he wielded. It was his slight accent, spoken in a gravelly voice. The twitch at the corner of his mouth that indicated she had done something right or impressive - even. It was someone who was rooted to her family, but most definitely _not_ family.

It was with those thoughts that she started to undress. While she refused to look at the ground, she looked anywhere but at him. She was a woman now, but she was still inexperienced. She new looking at him would make her lose all her nerve. When she had removed her travelling gown, she turned her back to him. "Could you help me with my corset?" She asked, doing her best to look innocently yet sensually over her shoulder. The bobbing of his Adam's apple signaled to her that she was definitely having an effect on him. He brought his hands to the top of the corset, brushing her long locks over her shoulders, his fingers lingering at her neck. Goosepimples spread across her neck and down her back until she could swear she felt something twinge _down there._ Slowly, but with purpose, Lord Baelish unlaced her corset. She knew he had finished when she could _almost_ feel his hands about to rest on the part of her body that was neither back nor bottom.

Without turning towards him, she removed the corset, along with her small clothes. She stood completely bare, her back still at him. She walked to the tub where the maid had poured fresh, steaming water. She sat and relaxed against the metal of the tub. Finally, _finally,_ she looked him in the eyes. Now it was her turn to gulp. He was unbuttoning his tunic, his eyes boring into hers until she thought she would explode. The longing, the desire, the exasperation was all written in the grey storm of his eyes. As Lord Baelish continued to undress down to his small clothes, Sansa began rubbing lavendar soap up and down her arms, across her stomach, and payed especially close attention to her breasts. When she heard a slight intake of breath from across the room, she lifted one leg onto the metal and started washing her long, porcelain legs. After scrubbing the other leg clean, she reached the soap out to Lord Baelish. To Petyr. and asked, "would you mind . . . ?" Leaving the question hanging in the air.

"Of course, m'lady." He said, though his voice was a few registers lower than usual, just a little huskier and oh _GODS_ did it make her feel something for the first time in so long. Instead of rubbing the bar across her back as expected - _how could she ever be so foolish as to predict what he would do -_ he lathered the soap in his hands and used them to wash her back. But he didn't just clean, he massaged. Her tight shoulders were putty in his hands, she let out moans, not caring anymore about how unladylike this all was. Not caring what her septa would think. Only caring about feeling something good for the first time in maybe forever.

She felt his hot breath - smelling of mint and exotic spices - on her neck. She turned her head and captured his lips with hers. She tried to move her lips as he did, never really knowing how to do this in the first place. Kisses from Joffrey were never out of love or _need_. Need to survive, maybe but never desire or passion. Who would ever have guessed that young Sansa, who dreamed of marrying a young prince, would ever be seducing a notorious older man? Certainly not her, And yet that's all she wanted. All that gave her hope anymore. Just as the thought breached her mind, he broke away from their kiss and walked away.

Instantly hurt, she looked down, willing the dam keeping her tears at bay not to break.

"Sansa" he said. She looked up to find him standing in front of the tub, holding a towel out for her to step into. Another reminder that she was still naive, she stepped into the towel and his arms.

Unable to wait until she could dry herself, Petyr kept the towel wrapped around her and pulled her body flush against his. He caught her lips with his, running his hands all up and down her body - feeling, stimulating, and drying her all at once. His tongue begged for passage to her mouth; her lips blessedly allowed him entry. Too soon she was breaking away from him. But instead of the worst he feared, she let the towel drop to the floor and gripped the bottom of my shirt, lifting it over his head. Upon seeing the scar that ran down the length of his torso, Sansa's finger whispered from the top of the scar to the bottom, stopping when she reached the lace of his breaches.

As Petyr prayed for her to free him from the bonds of the fabric, he looked her in the eyes.

"I've never - " before she could finish her sentence, Petyr interrupted, gently framing her face in his hands "It doesn't matter, Sansa, what you have or haven't done. What you should or shouldn't do. Nothing matters except for what you _want_. What do you want, Sansa?" He asked against her lips.

Without hesitation or fear, Sansa whispered, "You" and he brought his lips to hers in a devastating kiss. All the pain she endured was erased by the single brush of his lips against hers. She let go of the game she had to play around the Lannisters, of the commoner she had to be in the inn. She was just Sansa - whoever she really was. She let herself go in the arms of the man she didn't trust, but the man who made her feel safe for the first time since she'd left home.

As his hands slid down her luscious body, he stopped at her bum, molding it in his hands. Sansa moaned into his mouth but then gave a yelp when he unexpectedly lifted her up, her legs rising to encircle his lower body. He walked her the few paces to the bed, and they fell together onto the mattress. Her legs remained crossed around his bottom half while he bucked his hips against hers. She could feel him _there_. And it felt devilish and sinful and _so right._ She rarely knew the proper course of action anymore, but this, she knew, was right.

Petyr unlinked her legs enough to break free - but only long enough to finally remove his breeches. As he stood at attention, Sansa's eyes widened in curiosity and fear. _How was he_ ever _going to fit?_ Petyr threw her his signature smirk, obviously reading her thoughts. "Don't worry, my sweet. It won't hurt long"

Reassured, she righted herself on the bed so that her head lay on the pillows. Petyr, in his naked glory, climbed atop her, bringing his body flush against hers once more. She could feel his hard member pressed against her lower belly. He popped one breast into his mouth, suckling on it like a dying man, then he gave her other breast the same attention as Sansa ran her fingers through his hair - using just enough of her nails to drive him crazy. Then he began his descent lower and lower until Sansa was worried she knew where his destination was. Her fears were confirmed as his tongue grazed her lower lips. Breathing in heavily, she relaxed her body of tension. Fear would not play a role tonight.

Almost painfully slowly, he caressed her lower lips with his tongue, occasionally taking a break and twirling his tongue around her clit. He thought he could spend forever there between her legs, but Sansa had other ideas - Thank the _Gods_.

With the ferocity of a dire wolf, she flipped them so that she was now straddling him around his thighs. She grasped his cock firmly and started pumping it. Petyr's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let out a garbled groan. He closed his eyes, but they were startled open when he felt her mouth encompass him. She was looking straight at him and he couldn't help but worship her with his eyes. He tangled his fingers into her hair, guiding her head ever so gently until he couldn't take it anymore. He flipped them once more so that he was on top. He stopped to really look at her, their faces centimeters apart, their lips almost touching.

"Are you sure?" Petyr asked, dreading what her answer could be.

"I've never been more sure about anything." She said, clear and proud. And he could tell by the fierce look in her eyes it was the truth.

He recaptured her plump lips with his with fervor and need. When they both were gasping for air, Petyr whispered in her ear, "This is going to hurt a lot at first, but it will get better. I promise you that." He added his signature smirk at the end, which fortified her spirit enough to relax as he slowly pressed himself inside of her. It was too full and the pain was worse than she imagined. But she controlled her breathing, tried to keep the damn of her eyes from breaking, but tears flowed down her cheeks unbidden. Petyr wiped them away with open-mouthed kisses, his tongue tasting the salty tears. He did not move inside her for several moments until she was finally used to the pain and her hips started moving subconsciously. That was the cue Petyr needed to start thrusting slowly and gently. His eyes never left her face, never stopped reading her to make sure she was okay and not in too much pain.

Eventually, the pain was fighting with something else - pleasure. It felt good. The fullness was not quite so unbearable anymore, now it was pleasant. It reminded her that she and Petyr were no longer separate people, but one entity. This notion empowered her, made her feel like she was just as important to him as to his game of thrones. Which made her a player too. "Petyr, yes, _harder_ ," she all but whispered, no longer embarrassed of her desires.

Petyr smirked and started pumping harder and faster. He took one of her legs and lifted it over his shoulder. They both let out identical moans of pleasure at the change in position. Sansa was no longer thinking about the pain, rather the consistent entrance and exit of Petyr inside of her, how it made her feel. She couldn't stop her hips from meeting his if she wanted to and _Gods knew_ she never wanted him to stop. He ran his hands up and down her stomach, stopping to mold her breasts in each hand. He twisted each nipple gently, sending jolts right down to her core. She was close, she didn't know it, but he did.

He released her leg from over his shoulder so that he could kiss her. He kissed everywhere he could reach while still keeping the consistent thrusts that drove her wild. He nibbled her ear, he left love bites at the juncture between her neck and shoulder. He stroked her jaw with his tongue and teeth. "Sansa." He whispered, and it was enough to send her flying over the edge. Her orgasm wracked her whole body as she cried out in pleasure, "Petyr"

Petyr kept pumping, not willing to find release until she had found it at _least_ one more time. He could tell by the pinch of pain in her eyes as she looked up at him that his thrusting was almost getting to be too much. But she didn't know that meant her next orgasm was about to blow her mind. With three more thrusts she screamed his name this time, which effected him more than he could have ever imagined. He came inside her hard and fast, trying to pump out the last of her aftershocks, trying to ride his orgasm just a few moments longer.

As they both caught their breath, Sansa felt him growing soft inside her. It was a satisfying feeling, she thought. To know that she caused a man to harden and soften at will. Yes, she was more sure of this than anything else. Lord Baelish rolled off of her, presumably not to crush her as all the strength in him had gone. She brought the blankets up around them and cuddled into his chest. He closed his eyes in pure contentment and began stroking her locks with love. He almost told her right then and there how he truly felt. How much he truly loved her. And he knew she wouldn't run at the knowledge. But he also knew she didn't quite understand the feelings she had for him. After all, he was old enough to be her father. _But you are not my daughter_. He thought as she looked down at her content face. She looked up to meet his gaze and smiled a genuine smile. Something he didn't think he had ever seen from her before. It was the most breathtaking thing he had seen in his entire life. Never again would he think about his desire for Catelyn Tully. Sansa Stark was his heart and soul. How could he ever think about another in his entire life? It was not long before sleep overtook them both.


	3. Chapter 3

Petyr awoke with the sun in the same position as he'd fallen asleep, with Sansa Stark curled up and clinging to his body. For so long he had been playing the game, hoping objects would fill the void left by unrequited love. Last night he realized she was all he really needed. But he'd come to far, been playing the game too long to stop now. Now, he had to tell Sansa the next step of his plan - not because he didn't think she'd go along otherwise, but because now this next step would be just as difficult for him as it would be for her. He brushed her arm up and down until she stirred awake. She started drawing shapes through his chest hair with the pads of her fingertips.

"Sweetling, it is time we discussed our next step." He said soberly.

"You're going to marry me off to Ramsay Bolton, aren't you?"

He looked down, impressed, but also sad at the resignation in her voice. She looked him in the eye and saw that she had guessed correctly.

"That much I could work out. But tell me - do you have a plan to free me from the House that killed my family, or am I to spend the rest of my days with _him?"_

 _"_ I always have a plan."

Sansa turned toward him fully, placing her hands atop his chest to prop her up, "Do I get to hear this plan?"

"Not yet."

Sansa eyed him for several moments before bringing her lips to his in a soft, gentle kiss. She brought one hand to rub the scruff of his morning beard. She loved the tickle of his mustache against her upper lip. Sansa committed it to memory, as soon she would be kissing another. She had to memorize the feeling so that she could picture Petyr with her in the marriage bed and not _Ramsay Bolton_.

They finished their journey in two days, no more stops at inns along the way. As she peered out the window, she saw it. Her home. Winterfell looked just as she remembered it, save the sections that had been damaged in battle since she'd left. Petyr crossed the wagon house to sit next to her on her bench. He enveloped her in his arms and promised her it would be alright. He wouldn't let any harm come to her here. She knew it was a lie, though. No one could protect her. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her passionately. She didn't hold back either. Who knew when he would be called away on business and leave her here with the traitors who murdered her family. Who knew the next time she would feel his arms around her in a loving embrace. She certainly didn't know. So she kissed him as if her life depended on it. Their moans getting louder until the carriage started to slow. They broke away and he offered her one final soft kiss before returning to his side of the carriage.

The carriage doors opened all too soon, and Petyr was escorting her through the gates of Winterfell. He could see the exact moment she put on her mask. While it pained him to make her keep playing the game, he was proud at how good she had gotten at it. Soon, she would beat them all. And he would be there at he side when she did.

At dinner, the Boltons and Lord Baelish discussed the plans for the upcoming nuptials. Sansa interjected only when absolutely necessary, enough to make them think she wasn't completely repulsed by the Boltons. Or completely discontented thinking about when Lord Baelish would eventually leave Winterfell for another step of the plan. She knew she could handle herself, she was not dependent on him. But she would miss his company and the feelings that accompanied it.

Finally, Lord Bolton stated, "I think we could all use a good night's sleep. Ramsay, why don't you escort Lady Sansa to her chambers."

Ramsay smiled a twisted smile, and took Sansa from the room. It was her childhood room. She wasn't sure how she felt about seeing it after all these years, without Arya to share it with. When they entered, Arya's bed was still there. She hadn't let herself think about her sister in a very long time; it hurt too much. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even notice Ramsay shut the door and walk ever closer to her. She only noticed when he was pressing her against the door. She barely had time to register his lips forcefully crashing onto hers. His hands were everywhere, but instead of feeling stimulated, she felt disgusted. When his hands came to her breasts, he pinched her nipples through her gown, painfully. She thought about fighting him, but she realized that would be foolish. She was no match for him and she did not want to jeopardize the marriage. She played her part, played the game. She bit his lip hard until she tasted blood. She thought about what she would want to do to Petyr if they ever really _fucked._ They'd made love, but what would it be like to really be taken by such a man? These thoughts helped get through this moment of torture with Ramsay. He seemed pleasantly surprised by her actions. His hand came to rest at her throat where he began to squeeze, not letting her lips leave his. When she could feel herself growing light-headed, she grabbed the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged as hard as she could, then proceeded to bite his neck, harder than she ever would bite Petyr. She looked him in the eye and saw cruelty and madness. She thought he might kill her with a look on his face like that. Then, a knock at the door had Ramsay detangling himself from her. Sansa swore she'd kiss whoever had just come to her rescue.

"Lady Sansa, I have your trunks. My men brought them to the wrong chambers on accident." _Petyr._ Now she really _would_ kiss her savior.

"Soon, my lovely wife." Ramsay whispered, biting her lip. He then opened the door and departed without a word or glance toward Petyr. Thankfully, he didn't notice that Petyr came without any men with trunks. Or that she didn't even bring any trunks to begin with.

Petyr entered the room, closing and locking the door behind him. He saw the drop of blood pool on her bottom lip. He brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. Petyr's eyes darkened with rage. But Sansa reached out to him, her hand cupping his face, her thumb brushing his cheek. "Part of playing the game." He closed his eyes as she soothed him. She tamed his rage into a dull irritation.

"I have bad news." Petyr announced. Sansa smirked, "Is there even such a thing as good news?" Petyr offered her a sad smile before disclosing, "The wedding has been pushed to tomorrow." When Sansa's expression didn't change, he added, "And I have to leave tonight." Petyr saw the slight kink in her mask as disappointment and fear gripped her heart. But she simply nodded sternly. "Alright" was all she said.

"What do you want, Sansa?" Puzzled, she replied, "I want you."

"Sweetling, you cannot desire something you already possess." She smiled as he continued. "What do you want for your future?"

Without hesitation she responded, "I want revenge for my family. I want to be Wardeness of the North." She paused a moment before looking down and continuing, "And I want you to be my Warden." She was very focused on playing with the mockingbird pin on his coat. He brushed her arms up and down, "How convenient. Those were my plans all along." Sansa looked up at him, not daring to be hopeful. "When the Boltons are defeated - and trust me, they will be soon enough - we will marry and we will rule both the Vale and all of Winterfell. As equals." Sansa smiled as he leaned forward to place his lips on hers. His pace quickened, as did hers as she realized this was the last time she would be with him alone before she married Ramsay.

Sansa hastily undid the mockingbird pin and relieved him of his overcoat. Petyr whispered, "we have to be very quiet."

Sansa nodded in agreement before helping him out of his undershirt while he fumblingly undid the back of her dress, their lips met once more. The sting of her lip was the only thing that reminded her of the scene with Ramsay just minutes prior. But soon, like before, Petyr erased the hurt with another brush of his lips and she sighed into his mouth. She was left in just her small clothes, and Petyr only in his breeches. But they quickly remedied that. Sansa then pushed him to a seated position on her bed as she climbed on top of him, straddling his lap. For several moments they just relished in each other, committing the other's body to memory. Where Ramsay's hands everywhere felt chaotic and uncomfortable, the swift journey of Petyr's hands felt intoxicating. She felt him grow hard against her belly, and she gripped him with her delicate, strong hands. "Sansa" he whispered as he allowed his eyes to close. She took the opportunity to seat herself at his tip and _oh so_ slowly ease herself onto his shaft. She sighed in pleasure as he strangled a moan and whispered her name like a prayer each time she rose and fell onto him. Sansa had never done such a thing before, but this felt right and natural, and she felt so good in Petyr's hands. It wasn't just about feeling safe around him anymore. It was about feeling valued for who she was, about feeling empowered and _dare she say,_ loved? Or at the very least, desired. But she had a sneaking suspicion he felt the same way about her as she him.

All of a sudden, Petyr lifted them both off the bed and he plopped her unceremoniously on her stomach. Confused, she turned to look at him, but he kept her steady, entering her from behind. The angle was divine and she tried her best to keep her moans to herself, but ultimately she bit the pillows atop her bed. Hearing his balls tapping against her body was so sinfully dirty yet it gave her such pleasure. His finger reached toward her front to encircle her clit over and over and over again until she was climbing higher and higher. She squeezed her inner walls around him to help him find his release, her hips moving frantically forward and backward in rhythm with his until miraculously they came together, with each other's names on their lips. Panting, they both adjusted themselves, cuddling in the bed that was hardly big enough for one of them, let alone both.

Out of nowhere, Petyr heard Sansa giggle. Never had he heard such sweet music in his life. Curious and amused, he asked, "What's so funny?"

"I was just imaging my reaction if someone told me that the next time I slept in this bed it would be after making love to a powerful, notorious older Lord Baelish." Together, they both laughed at the thought.

"If someone told me that I would fall in love with Catelyn Tully's daughter, I would have laughed in their face."

Sansa looked him in his eyes, "I love you too, Petyr." His name on her lips made his heart fly. He brushed the hair out of her eyes.

"The first time I met you, I was visiting your father for matters of the coin. You were just 7 years old, I don't even think you remember seeing me. I walked around Winterfell, watching all of you Stark children play in the snow or ride the horses or the boys practice combat. I could picture each of them as my own children with your mother. I knew exactly how I'd raise each of them. I would raise Robb just as he was, but I would have given Arya more room to be herself. She would have been a little less rebellious that way." Sansa giggled at the thought - a tame Arya? Petyr continued,

"I certainly never would have housed Theon Greyjoy as my personal ward and Jon wouldn't exist because I never would have looked at another woman. But you were different."

Sansa turned to look at him. "I took one look at those crystal blue eyes and my mind stood still. I never could picture you as my child. And I didn't understand why at the time. Now, I suppose, I do understand," Petyr finished, bringing his hand to her face to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

Sansa pressed her lips to his as they shared a delicate, loving, heart-breakingly beautiful kiss. One she would never forget. She was overwhelmed with emotion, and she knew that he did truly love her, without ulterior motives. Sure he wanted other things, but his desire for her was as pure as the snow that fell outside these walls. A single tear ran down her cheek. She hadn't thought much of her siblings because of the pain of their memory. But now she realized she had to. Her family, Petyr - they were her only real ties to her humanity. She would cling to their memory as she clung to Petyr now. She let herself cry in his arms, just this once, before she had to put her mask back on for her wedding tomorrow.

"Come back to me." She whispered as she drifted off to sleep. "Always." She heard him say, but she wasn't sure if it was just a dream.


End file.
